


condemnable idolatry

by Medie



Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-30
Updated: 2010-03-30
Packaged: 2017-10-08 13:16:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/76021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medie/pseuds/Medie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>His voice is low, angry and aroused, and something else entirely when he insists, "I'm not." Not this distance, not this cold, not able to look at death like points on a scorecard. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	condemnable idolatry

**Author's Note:**

> written for [](http://community.livejournal.com/sg_rarepairings/profile)[**sg_rarepairings**](http://community.livejournal.com/sg_rarepairings/)'s [Fic Battle](http://community.livejournal.com/sg_rarepairings/43759.html) for the prompt: 'I died once' / 'I stopped counting'.

Around Atlantis, the joke is Dr. Jackson is a ghost. Her arrival in the city is without fanfare. Disembarking from Daedalus, she vanishes into her quarters with an armload of research material, emerging infrequently for meals. Even then, she tucks herself in at a corner table, eating absently with her gaze locked on the tablet by her tray. She doesn't wear a 'Keep Out' sign taped to her back, but she might as well.

"So much for the legendary Dr. Jackson," John says, watching her decimate a salad without ever once looking at the plate. He's heard stories about SG1 from the minute he got here. Ford telling more than a few of the tales with wild gestures and an enthusiastic smile. Those, and more, stories have been told and retold a thousand times since then. He's been tempted to start a drinking game. Two sips whenever someone says "Well, when SG1 – "

"Hmm?" says Rodney, mumbling through his sandwich.

John looks at him, staring at the tablet beside _his_ tray and rolls his eyes. "Never mind." He digs into his dinner and doesn't grumble, but it's still damned anticlimactic.

Next thing they'll be telling him Santa's not real.

*

Danielle's sitting beside Elizabeth's bed, talking in soft murmurs. There's a tablet sitting on Danielle's lap and John catches sight of a status report. He leans over her shoulder to read further, she looks up.

"Keeping her updated?" he asks.

She nods, turning back to the unresponsive Elizabeth. "We'll finish this in a minute." Leaving the tablet on Elizabeth's bed, she follows John out.

"Word came?" she asks, her voice even. She's been expecting this. He wonders what she knows that he doesn't. He bites back a laugh. What a joke. "It's official then."

He nods. He looks down at the floor and then at her, there's a smudge on her glasses and his fingers twitch. "The IOA voted a few minutes ago."

"This is temporary," says Danielle. Her voice is firm. He believes her. "As soon as Elizabeth is able, I go back to my research."

"Yeah," he nods. He looks over her shoulder at the slight figure in the bed. Temporary.

Danielle's hand rests on his arm, squeezing to draw his attention. "It is." A ghost of something that might be a smile flickers across her face. "Trust me, around here, this sort of thing is always temporary."

"Except when it isn't," John says. He remembers the funerals at the SGC, knows she's attended a few of her own. He thinks of the accidental double entendre and grimaces. Shit, he hates this stuff.

She smiles, genuine. "See?" she steps back, dropping her hand to her side. He feels the echoes of it's imprint warm against his skin. "How can you argue with my track record?" Her smile widens. "Or your own."

*

"I died _once_," he says.

She looks up from a report. "I stopped counting."

*

"It was for minute," John argues. He doesn't know why this matters, but he's determined to win. "It doesn't count."

Danielle curls a leg beneath her, leaning back against the couch. She never sits behind Elizabeth's desk. Hasn't once from the moment she became the city's interim administrator. He doesn't think about the way that curls around him, somehow comforting in its way. "Doesn't it?"

He frowns and doesn't answer.

*

"Colonel Sheppard."

John wakes up to the sound of Jennifer Keller's voice in his ear. He fumbles to acknowledge. "Yeah, what is it?"

Beside him, Danielle stirs. The blanket slips from her bare shoulder as she rolls toward him, eyes alert and watching him. She rises, resting on her elbows, and he reaches out. The skin of her back is warm beneath his hand and she shivers. "She's awake," she says. There's relief in her voice, but no surprise.

"It's Dr. Weir," says Jennifer. "She's awake."

John breathes out, "We're on our way."

*

"Back to your research?" Elizabeth asks, grinning. She's sitting up, looking like the woman they all remember. She's not, they all know. The nanites are still there, lurking in her blood stream and waiting to be dealt with, but John can't care. He's giddy with relief to see her looking at him.

Danielle nods with satisfaction. "And not a moment too soon." She looks chagrined. "I was never a diplomat."

"The city's on the verge of revolt," John agrees as Elizabeth laughs. "There's talk of making her walk the plank."

"We don't have a plank," Elizabeth says.

"McKay's on it," he says. "Should have it by lunch."

She laughs again, it's the best thing he's ever heard. Danielle looks at him across the bed, smiling. He returns the smile, telling Elizabeth, "It's good to have you back."

*

"I'm not you."

Pressed against the wall, her body trapped by his, Danielle looks calm. "I know," she says. She rolls her hips, pressing into his. He presses back, his fingers curling around her wrists. "I do."

He kisses her. She catches his lip between her teeth. The sting surges, honey sweet, through him and he grips tighter. There'll be marks tomorrow, little smudges where his fingertips claimed her skin. She releases him and presses a kiss, soothing, into the corner of his mouth. "I know," she repeats, placating.

His voice is low, angry and aroused, and something else entirely when he insists, "I'm not." Not this distance, not this cold, not able to look at death like points on a scorecard.

Danielle's smile is almost sympathetic. "Not yet."


End file.
